I Just Moved In Next Door To A Bunch Of Rednecks

I Just Moved In Next Door To A Bunch Of Rednecks

“Wanna tell me who you are and what you’re doing here?”

Flashback to eight months ago. After a long, drawn out process of nickel and diming, me and the Mrs. finally closed on our townhouse. With our trusty realtor in tow, we had finally received the keys to our place. After handing over the keys, she said, “Congratulations on your new home, I’ll be heading out now. If you need anything feel free to call.”

Great. We finally have the place to ourselves. There were unpacked boxes strewn across the rooms, walls that needed painting and lots of potential. We headed out to the modest fenced-in yard to check it out — a great place for our dog (soon to be dogs) with a nice view of a meadow filled with wildflowers. As we were planning where we would plot our garden (my garden, I like gardening, sue me), I hear the sliding glass door open and a voice yell to me, “Wanna tell me who you are and what you’re doing here?”

In my mind, all I could think of was “so this is how I die.” I know I locked the front door when the realtor left, so someone must have broken in. I responded to the voice that I still couldn’t see.

“We actually own this place.”

“So you must be our new neighbors.” The deductive powers are strong with this one. He then proceeded to tell me about being a proud union carpenter, how he built our kitchen for the previous owner, the neighborhood and all that. We quickly learned that he had a set of keys to our place but never really figured out why.

Remember in The Hobbit when people keep showing up at Bilbo’s illustrious hobbit hole, Bag End? The guy’s wife, two daughters and their brand new rat creature dog (which pissed on my floor and mysteriously died a few weeks later) showed up one by one in my kitchen.

The guy introduced himself as Chris. He told me the previous owners left a whole bunch of stuff in the house, including deer meat, a bunch of frozen fruit I’ve been meaning to throw out and booze, which he and his redneck wife took and drank. Thanks, asshole. But they made sure to let us know they put a turkey in our freezer for us.

Chris seemed to be homies with the girl that previously owned my townhouse. He told me about how her grandmother bought the place so she didn’t have to pay rent (must be nice) and he fixed her idiot ROTC ex-boyfriend’s redneck engineered “contracting” that was done everywhere. He must have gotten tired of talking after thirty minutes or he needed a new tin of dip to help remove the remaining sixteen teeth in his mouth, but he finally left after we awkwardly stood in our kitchen for way too long.

I didn’t see Chris for a while after that, but I certainly heard him. You can’t really hear anything anyone else does unless they are particularly loud. Chris and his redneck family are quite loud and they have squabbles fairly frequently.

Chris does some weird shit. He leaves his motorcycle outside, regardless of the weather. When we first moved in, he parked it on the line between our spot and his, making it extremely difficult to open the car door. I’ve never actually seen him ride it but it remains uncovered, even when we got two feet of snow.

One day, we both got home at roughly the same time and I realized his hair looked like someone took some spray paint and colored it matte black. He tried to talk to me but I couldn’t stop staring at his Lego hair. It’s been that way ever since.

As mentioned in another article, we gave him a friendly heads up about a party we were planning with twenty-ish people showing up. We left notes on our neighbors’ doors with our numbers to call in case someone parked in their spot, etc. Chris was the only one to come knock on our door to discuss things. He was kind enough to “let us have our party” (his exact words) but told us to keep it down and reminded us that our other neighbors’ new baby slept right on the other side of our wall like we were rowdy teenagers. It was a Friday night. Thankfully, he didn’t show up to the party and neither did the cops.

He also leaves his trash all over his yard and mine. He will leave his trashcans out until next trash day, a big no-no. I passive aggressively put them back once, only to come out the next trash day and see them in front of my house instead of his. They remained there that entire week. As VP of the ‘hood, I am appalled. Every time I throw his hose back onto his yard or throw his trash away, it seems to multiply. I would like to think he is messing with me or something, but I think they are simply weird rednecks in their natural habitat.

The other day, the one his two daughters who is not a teen parent was outside playing grab ass with her Bieber-wannabe boyfriend. I had my window open because it was a nice day, only to find them talking about stupid high school kid shit outside. I am hoping the thumping noises heard later were the washer and dryer going through their cycles because even though Chris is a pain in the ass, I do have empathy for him as I cannot imagine having both his daughters be teen parents.

To be honest, it might not be his fault. He lives in an entirely female household. He showed up at my house one time when I was playing vidya games and asked me about it. Maybe he is craving male companionship, maybe the estrogen got to him, maybe he liked the shit show that used to live here and we don’t live up to his expectations. We just try to live and let live and keep a low profile.

Image via YouTube

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I specialize in damage control, being the drunkest at any and all functions and social assassination. Always appreciate a strong gif game. Follow me on Twitter. Sometimes I put up cool stuff about golfing at the local dirt tracks.

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